


Someone To Watch Over Me

by belwrites



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, M/M, Musicals, drama teacher!bucky, pastry chef!steve, steve is a mystery, the kids have a lot of rumors, the musical is crazy for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belwrites/pseuds/belwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows Mr. Barnes is married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this happened because my girlfriend told me about her high school theatre director and his husband, a pastry chef. I am gross. 
> 
> Title from "Someone to Watch Over Me," which is a song from the musical they're putting on.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so let me know if something's not right.

There are three things everyone knows about Mr. Barnes’ husband:

1) He is a pastry chef.

2) They met before Mr. Barnes became a teacher (and his previous job is another source of many rumors), but they only just got married in the last few years.

3) No one has ever seen him.

Never. Not even a photo on Mr. Barnes’ desk. Last year’s seniors thought maybe he wasn’t a pastry chef, but one of the teachers at school, and they started the pastry chef rumor to keep the students -- and Principal Fury -- from figuring it out.

Natasha Romanoff, this year’s dance captain, thinks that’s bullshit.

“ _Everyone_ knows about Miss Carter and Vice Principal Hill,” she points out during warm-ups the first week of rehearsals, shutting down the sophomores who were trying to spread the forbidden teacher romance rumor to the freshmen. “He’s not a teacher.”

“No one’s ever met him,” Pepper Potts, the female lead, reminds her. “Any rumor’s a valid one until we see him.”

Mr. Barnes comes strutting -- last year’s seniors called it the “murder strut” because of the glare that accompanies the walk -- down the center aisle, hanging up rather forcefully on his phone. 

“Okay, we’re gonna review the blocking from yesterday, and with any luck, we’ll make it to the finale by five. Natasha, how’s the dance sequence looking?” 

“I’ll know when Clint gets here, sir,” she says with a smirk. He ignores it.

“Where is he? Is Kate here?” 

“I’m here!” Mr. Barnes looks up to Kate, perched on the catwalk. “I just texted him, Mr. B. He’s on his way, he got detention.”

“With who?”

“Miss Carter.” Mr. Barnes’ eye roll is visible from space. Or, at least, the catwalk. He grumbles something about Sharon screwing with him.

“Okay, Pepper, why don’t we start with Someone to Watch Over Me, hopefully Clint will get here by the time you’re done,” he mumbles the last part. The cast scatters, mostly to sit in the audience and watch as Pepper and Mr. Barnes work through the song. The conversation about Mr. Barnes’ pastry chef husband is forgotten, for the time being.

They’re two weeks out and in the throes of tech week that it starts up again. Mr. Barnes has grown his “theatre hell” beard, which the juniors and seniors know means he hasn’t been sleeping well. There are rumors about what he was before a drama teacher, and most of them are about the military. It would explain his hesitance towards using guns onstage, or why he keeps people away from his left side. Today, though, his left hand is up, gold ring glinting off the light from the stage and the light from the work table set up in the middle of the audience.

“Tony, what is that?”

“Those are the lights you asked for,” comes the response from over the intercom system. Pepper can just see Tony, the stage manager, lounged in the chair at the board, holding the microphone lazily.

“No, Tony, this is for Stiff Upper Lip, Pepper is completely washed out in this,” Mr. Barnes says, and they can all hear how he’s straining to keep his lid on. Tech week is hard. They’re all tired. Mr. Barnes wears his exhaustion, but that might be because he’s a real adult.

They take five and the cast settles in the hallway outside the auditorium while they pretend that this is going well.

“He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping,” some sophomore says. She’s young, one of the Follies. She’s still new to theatre.

“He doesn’t really, during tech,” Tony says from behind Pepper, where he’s messing with her mic pack.

“Tony,” she says warningly.

“Sorry! But he doesn’t. Seriously. Thor said he leaves and Mr. Barnes will still be here and he’ll be here when he gets in the next morning. I think he sleeps here.”

“Wonder how his husband handles that,” someone says.

“Excuse me?” They collectively look up. A beefcake of a human being is standing before them. Literally, he’s huge. The biggest person most of them see on a daily basis is any one of the football players, and this guy dwarfs them. He’s got a cute little hand knit hat stuck on his head, and a scarf haphazardly wrapped around his neck. He looks a little sheepish.

“Is this Crazy For You rehearsals?” he asks. They all nod. “Is Bu -- _Mr. Barnes_ in the auditorium?” He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, but you can’t bring that in there,” Natasha speaks up, pointing at the thermos and brown paper bag in his hands. “No food.”

“I think he’ll let this one slide,” the guy says, and seriously who is he. He’s got the bluest eyes ever. He smiles, embarrassed but definitely genuine, before nodding and slipping inside.

Everyone sort of looks at each other and then gets up. The leads shepherd everyone around to the stage door so they can get in undetected and watch from the safety of the wings.

The guy has sat down next to Mr. Barnes at the director’s table. The only light is from the stage and the small lamp that sits on the table, which hasn’t been replaced since the late eighties. The thermos and the brown paper bag are set on the table, the brown paper bag now a makeshift plate for a really spectacular cupcake. They watch, silent, straining to hear.

“Didn’t have to do this,” they hear Mr. Barnes in the middle of saying.

“Buck, I _know_ you didn’t sleep last night, just take it and eat it in front of me so I know you’re not gonna drop dead in front of these kids and scare them half to death.” Mr. Barnes is already reaching for the thermos, pouring out what appears to be soup into the cup. “How’s your headache?” Even the kids in the back can see the bitchy eyebrow on Mr. Barnes’ face. “Humor me."

“I’ll be fine, Steve,” Mr. Barnes grits out. It’s the same tone he started using towards the end of the last session.

“Don’t director-voice me, James,” the guy -- Steve -- says in this _tone_ and holy shit that should not be as attractive as it is. Mr. Barnes must think so too, if the blush rising tells them anything. “Look, you’re sleeping even less than usual for this time of year, I know you’re getting sick even if you won’t believe it yourself, just please let me worry for like two minutes?”

Mr. Barnes is silent for a moment.

“I took some aspirin before rehearsal so it’s not so bad. Probably won’t get bad until after we close,” he says.

“You’re taking the day after off,” Steve says, and it’s not a request. Mr. Barnes nods. “Okay. You should get back, it’s been five.” Mr. Barnes nods, standing. Steve stands, too, and pulls Mr. Barnes into his chest. Mr. Barnes’ arms  -- both of them -- come up and wrap around Steve’s waist.

“It’s the husband,” someone whispers.

“No shit,” Kate whispers back.

Steve and Mr. Barnes kiss quickly and then Steve whispers something in Mr. Barnes’ ear, which Steve apparently finds hilarious, but Mr. Barnes just groans and drops his head into Steve’s shoulder.

“Okay, come on out, let’s try I Got Rhythm again,” Mr. Barnes calls, facing the stage. “Get out here.” They all slink out onstage. “Cast, this is my husband, Mr. Rogers.” The cast snickers collectively at this.

“Oh, god, _please_ call me Steve,” Steve says. “I’m Steve.” He grins at them again, and then turns to Mr. Barnes. “I have to go back to the restaurant, I’ll see you at home.” He kisses Mr. Barnes again, who is beet red at this point, and leaves.

“What?” Mr. Barnes finally notices all of them staring at him, and not in the normal _staring at him like the director he is_ kind of way.

“Well, I mean, Mr. Barnes,” Clint starts. Natasha stamps on his foot. “Ow!”

“What is it? You all knew I was married,” Mr. Barnes says, frowning now.

“Well, yeah, everyone knows,” Tony says, sauntering to the apron and jumping off even though he’s the one who usually tells them not to. “But, Mr. B, when you say he’s a pastry chef, we’re assuming he’s not also a _bodybuilder_ on the side.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr! soulfulalpaca.tumblr.com


End file.
